


dreaming about the things that we could be

by ObsessedWithFandom



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, also their hair is like some type of secondary sex organ uhh??, asexual ecthelion (mentioned), demisexual erestor, demisexual glorfindel, ignore the romance the only purpose of this fic is trash-talking gildor, in the good timeline where jr2t let elves be gay, past ecthelion/glorfindel (mentioned), some of yall don’t remember sex is literally marriage for elves and it shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 19:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17731157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsessedWithFandom/pseuds/ObsessedWithFandom
Summary: Below, festivities were in full swing. Snatches of music and laughter drifted up every time the great doors to the Hall of Fire opened and closed. In the central plain, soft conversations and clandestine meetings could be overheard. From the fountains’ direction came the suspicious sound of splashing.Far above it all, on one of the highest balconies in Imladris, Erestor draped himself over the railing to watch the events. “I feel ancient,” he remarked absent-mindedly and not a little wistfully.A snort sounded behind him, and Glorfindel appeared next to him. In one hand was two empty wine glasses, and in the other a precarious bottle of wine. He offered the first hand to Erestor, who accepted with delight, and poured them both generous amounts.Erestor fortified himself with a sip, and then protested, “Yes, I know you are the eldest being on this side of the Sundering Seas –”





	dreaming about the things that we could be

**Author's Note:**

> title from counting stars by onerepublic.
> 
> if you don't understand a reference, i've added some notes at the end as explanation, or you can ask in the comments.
> 
> there's [art](http://tumblerislovetumblerislife.tumblr.com/post/183471824030/art-for-dreaming-about-the-things-that-we-could)!!
> 
> tw: mentioned racism and fetishism that both characters have gone through; panic attack (not described in detail, but starts at "It was a kiss with no end planned" and ends at “Do you want me to go?”); another character becomes anxious because they triggered the panic attack.

Below, festivities were in full swing. Snatches of music and laughter drifted up every time the great doors to the Hall of Fire opened and closed. In the central plain, soft conversations and clandestine meetings could be overheard. From the fountains’ direction came the suspicious sound of splashing.

Far above it all, on one of the highest balconies in Imladris, Erestor draped himself over the railing to watch the events. “I feel ancient,” he remarked absent-mindedly and not a little wistfully.

A snort sounded behind him, and Glorfindel appeared next to him. In one hand was two empty wine glasses, and in the other a precarious bottle of wine. He offered the first hand to Erestor, who accepted with delight, and poured them both generous amounts.

Erestor fortified himself with a sip, and then protested, “Yes, I know you are the eldest being on this side of the Sundering Seas -–”

“I’m sure that the Istari, and very likely Tom Bombadil, have larger claim to that honour,” Glorfindel interjected, amused.

“--but that does not mean that the rest of us can’t feel old once in a while,” finished Erestor, narrowing his eyes at Glorfindel to show what he thought of the interruption, before looking down again. “I used to be one of them, back in my early thousands –- sneaking off with a lover or swimming in inappropriate places. Though I remember that taking place later in the night and under the influence of quite a bit more wine.”

“Youngsters have to take their excuses where they can get them,” Glorfindel said, with an air only the very old or Lady Galadriel (or, these days, both) could achieve. “This is the Feast of Starlight, you said? It was always a firm favourite among the Vanyar, for it is Varda we honour most. Though I do remember it being a bit more… sedate, in Valinor. More rituals and prayers and respectful silences.”

The high sound of glass shattering, followed by shouts, reached them.

“Less wine, too,” Glorfindel said, though he didn’t put his down. Erestor watched his first mouthful closely, and could pinpoint the exact moment it reached his taste buds by the look on his face. He swallowed with difficulty. “This is _vile_. What is it?”

“Dorwinion, left over from the last time Queen Oropher visited. I’m told it’s an acquired taste.”

“I’ll confirm that for you.” Glorfindel swallowed a second time, easier than the first, and looked keenly at Erestor. “You speak of these events with fondness; the night is not over yet. You are welcome to go join your friends in the Hall of Fire or in a fountain. Or even to meet with a lover.”

When they had first met and in the early stages of their friendship, Erestor would’ve been sure Glorfindel’s words were a hint hidden behind courtesy. Now, he merely laughed. “And pray tell, what lover would I meet with?”

Glorfindel looked studiously away. His hair was unbound for once, and drifted around his face and shoulders. It wasn’t quite the same style as Erestor’s when he was a child, but much closer than the loose curls that some Sindar favoured. “According to local gossip –- I shan’t name names -– Gildor has made you another offer.”

Erestor blinked quickly away, taking a moment to process Glorfindel’s words. “You should know better than to trust rumours,” he scolded. Glorfindel stared doubtfully at him. “ _Even_ if they are true.”

“And your answer?”

“It has not changed once and you know it, Laurë.”

“Poor Gildor,” Glorfindel said, though he didn’t sound too upset. “You would think he’d learn to recognize rejection after so many repetitions of it.”

“Do you know, he calls himself part of the House of Finrod?” Erestor asked, feeling suddenly spiteful. He blamed the wine, and also Gildor’s inability to take anything from a hint to an outright refusal.

Glorfindel’s dark brows furrowed. “Lady Finrod left her only lover back in Valinor, and there are no records of her marrying – not impossible, I suppose, but nearly so for someone of her rank. She has no House.”

Erestor leaned closer, gesturing with his free hand, and said intensely, “ _Exactly_.”

Glorfindel threw his head back and laughed. Erestor couldn’t help but join in, though his died down more quickly. He continued watching Glorfindel under the guise of sipping at his wine.

“You mean I should consider myself lucky he did not pretend to be me before I came back?”

A snort escaped before Erestor could stop it. “ _Imladris_ should count itself lucky to have avoided that.”

When he turned his head, Glorfindel was already watching him with warm eyes. Erestor looked down, flushing, and then cursed himself and looked up again. By that time, Glorfindel was looking away at the plain below. “Why did you refuse him, the first time? He is not a bad match, for all he likes to pretend to be something he is not.”

Erestor blinked at the unexpected question. It had seemed obvious at the time, but now he struggled for an answer. He wanted to say that while he had an increasing weakness for hair like honey, the person attached to it formed a significant part of the rest of his opinion. Except he couldn’t really say that to Glorfindel, could he, because Glorfindel was –- Well.

But Gildor’s first offer had occurred before Glorfindel and he were anything more than acquaintances. He had refused because –- “It isn’t ever a serious offer,” he said slowly. “Not the typical kind, a prelude to marriage. He only wants me because I am -–” Erestor waved a hand over himself. “Noldo. Rare.” Even the thought of the next word tasted foul on his tongue. “…Exotic.”

“Oh, Erestor.” Glorfindel’s face was openly upset. “I’m sorry you had to -– have to -– go through that.”

There was a surprising amount of empathy in the words. Erestor tilted his head in silent question and, of course, Glorfindel noticed.

“I may not understand precisely, but I went through similar enough situations in Gondolin. The only ones not fully Noldo or Sinda were princess Idril and I. And prince Maeglin, later on, but he had little interest in others in the first place, and so was not as often hurt by… Well, you know.”

He laid his hand over Erestor’s on the railing. “You can talk to me, if you want. Now or later. Even if I cannot empathise with you, I am always willing to listen.”

 “I thank you for the offer,” Erestor said quietly, turning his hand under Glorfindel’s to slip them together.

Their rings caught on each other, and so did their skin, in the places that were calloused by their professions. The end-result took longer than it should have, and was a mixture of warm hands and cold metal. Quite disastrous. Erestor wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“I must confess, I am happy you refused Gildor, not just because of what you told me,” Glorfindel said, not quite looking at Erestor.

“Oh?”

“I fear he would not have been the most steadfast of lovers, and would’ve caused heartbreak that you did nothing to deserve.”

His meaning was quite clear, but Erestor stared at him a moment longer, in the hope that it would change. When it didn’t, he asked, voice tight with anger, “He made you an offer as well?”

“He was of the opinion that we Vanyar should stick together. Never mind that I am only half, and he appears to be a Sinda with an unusual hair colour.”

“Why did you refuse him, then? You said yourself that he is not a bad match,” Erestor pointed out. He felt unaccountably hurt, though he was not sure why. If Gildor made his last offer tomorrow, Erestor would not miss it -– it was not the kind of attention he found flattering. Glorfindel clearly hadn’t accepted the offer, and his gaze and hand were steady against Erestor’s.

Glorfindel shrugged loosely. “He had just made his first offer to you, and was preparing for another one. I wasn’t close enough to you then to know how you felt about him, and I was afraid of offending you by accepting an offer you secretly wanted. I asked him if you knew about his offer to me, and he said you did. Even then I knew it for a lie, because you would’ve spoken directly to me, to ensure all sides were content. Besides,” his mouth twisted, “I don’t know why I didn’t expect him to reveal shallow reasons for his offer to you. He was… not subtle, with me.”

Erestor laughed softly, trying to bury the relief that unaccountably emerged, as well as the hurt on both their behalves. “Look at us. One suitor between the two of us, and we both reject him. We shall die unmarried.”

“It’s not that bad,” Glorfindel told him. “I had a lover in Gondolin who never wanted to marry. Not me, specifically,” he assured, at the expression Erestor twisted his face in. “He just had no desire for it. He told me beforehand, and so we stayed lovers and never married and were quite happy like that. He reminds me of you, you know.”

“What?” Erestor gave a surprised laugh. “Was he Noldo?”

“No –- Sinda. Much paler than you and even me, but he _did_ have black hair, though he didn’t keep his nearly as neat as you do yours.” Glorfindel’s eyes traced over the tightly twisted coils that spilled over Erestor’s shoulders and face. He didn’t touch, just looked. Erestor wished he would. At least then he knew if these flirtations -– holding his hand, comparing him to a past lover, talking about his _hair_ –- were serious or not. And more than that, Erestor wanted…

Well. He wanted.

“More in temperament,” Glorfindel was saying. “In -– you know… attributes. Personality. He always complained about what a safety hazard my hair was, too.” He tugged at his hair and smiled fondly, gaze fixed somewhere far away.

“Who was he?” Erestor asked. It seemed kinder to know, somehow, though it hardly mattered -– so few of the Gondolindrim’s names were known, and then only the higher-ranking rulers. Turgon, Aredhel, Idril and Tuor, of course, and lower than them, Egalmoth, Galdor, Salgant, Maeglin, Duilin, Celethêl, Penlod, Rog, Voronwë, Elenmakil, Glorfindel himself, and -–

“Ecthelion,” Glorfindel answered, and then had the gall to look concerned when Erestor choked on his wine.

A few coughs and Glorfindel’s hand on his back was enough to end it, but he found the shock not so easily overcome. “You and Ecthelion of the Fountain? You were lovers? But there’s nothing remaining from Gondolin that implies any such thing!”

“From what I can tell, not much remains of Gondolin,” Glorfindel said, quietly. “But we were not married, and as such not mentioned as officially as we would’ve been if we were.”

That seemed to be as far as he was willing to go, but Erestor risked one more question. “Were there really a thousand crystals on his shield?”

It startled a laugh out of Glorfindel, which was always good, but Erestor did want to know the answer. He nudged at him until Glorfindel held up his free hand in surrender, still laughing. “Alright, alright! Yes, he did. It was terribly distracting to fight next to him.”

Erestor gaped at him. He’d always considered that particular description a gross exaggeration, if not an outright lie. To have it confirmed by a primary source… “And he scolded _you_ for your _hair_?”

Glorfindel threw his hand up in mock disgust. “I _know_. I told him it was an awful idea, but did he listen? No!”

Erestor laughed with him, and fancied that in Valinor -– possibly the Halls of Mandos, more likely outside it -– Ecthelion of the Fountain suddenly found himself overcome with a bout of shivering, though no chill wind blew.

“Will you wait for him?” Erestor couldn’t help but ask, voice soft as he could make it.

Glorfindel shot him a glance and then looked quickly away again. “No -– no. We agreed from the beginning that even Gondolin was full of dangers, and we knew even that safety would one day cease to be. It was much more likely one of us than neither of us would die, and we wouldn’t condemn each other to a loveless life if it happened. If we meet each other again in Valinor and are friends, we will both be content.”

“That sounds like a very good agreement,” Erestor whispered, swaying almost absentmindedly closer. Glorfindel finally met his eyes again and held them, hand going up to tuck his hair behind one ear. The rims of his ears, as well as his fingers and arms, were adorned with silver rings that were never allowed when he was on duty. It glinted sharply with Tilion’s light against the dark red of his robes, which in turn drew one’s attention to his lips, painted the same shade.

Glorfindel shifted slightly, and Erestor ran his gaze guiltily up the crooked line of his nose and to his eyes. Glorfindel’s slit pupils had dilated wider than the moonlit night warranted, so that his lovely brown irises were scarcely visible.

His own pupils must have done the same, because his surroundings were becoming almost painfully bright. None as bright as Glorfindel, though. Erestor swallowed with difficulty against the tension that brushed coldly against his skin. It took all his strength not to shiver.

“Well,” said Erestor, when he trusted his voice again. Glorfindel blinked slowly at him. “We’ve established that I have nowhere else to be, but what about you? You don’t want to spend your Feast of Starlight a little more… piously?”

With a slow shake of his head, eyes never leaving Erestor, Glorfindel answered, “According to Liege Elrond, there are no temples to Varda in Middle-Earth anymore. In that case, I might as well worship the stars right here.”

But Glorfindel’s eyes weren’t on the stars at all. Erestor raised an eyebrow. “This counts as worship?”

“What else could such a beautiful act be?”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes. If you aren’t,” Glorfindel whispered, “just imagine Gildor’s expression.”

That was indeed a compelling thought, and even as Glorfindel laughed, Erestor drew his face to his. The laugh was thankfully short-lived, replaced by a little gasp. Erestor couldn’t quite stop the hitch in his own breathing when Glorfindel started to kiss him back. His hand disentangled from Erestor’s, only to circle, along with the other one, around Erestor’s waist, holding them close together.

It was a kiss with no end planned, Erestor thought giddily, and then, because he was in the position to do so now, decided to satisfy his curiosity about Glorfindel’s hair. He kept one hand on Glorfindel’s cheek, while the other one, still warm from Glorfindel’s hand, slid into his hair. He had barely entwined his fingers in it when Glorfindel made a different sort of sound. He vanished so quickly from Erestor’s arms, it was as if he’d never been in them. Only the heat of his embrace lingered on Erestor’s skin.

By the time he looked up, Glorfindel was already on the other side of the balcony – as far as he could get from him without going inside, Erestor realized with a sinking feeling – and Erestor slowly let his hands drop to his sides at the sight of him. He felt as if a white-hot wire had been strung around his chest, but more concerning was the wide, unfocused set of Glorfindel’s eyes.

He stayed on his side of the balcony. After centuries as Glorfindel’s friend, he knew what to do in moments like these, even as it tore at him.  He wanted nothing more than to go to Glorfindel, but encroaching on his space when he was so shaken would be disastrous, and touching him even more so. Glorfindel knew how to care for himself and these attacks of terror were hardly new to him. It didn’t make it better, of course, and Erestor tried to help, but…

It was terribly selfish, but Erestor had never been such a direct cause of an attack. He thought for a moment of leaving to fetch someone else, someone safer for Glorfindel to be around -– his captain or another warrior, someone who would understand -– for a wild moment his mind leapt to Tauriel, but she was in Eryn Galen, of course.

But a too-sudden movement would only startle Glorfindel, and Erestor wasn’t sure how quickly he could find someone in any case. Glorfindel needed someone, and Erestor was there. They could address the other issues later.

So when Glorfindel’s breath quickened and started to catch in his throat, Erestor steeled himself and, making sure his voice would carry, said, “Laurë, look at me.”

He did, head snapping up and eyes burning. His pupils were dilated with more than attraction, Erestor realized, and his own breath stuttered as he wondered for how long that had been so.

“Laurë,” he said again, keeping his voice calm with difficulty. “Breathe -–” _for me_ , he usually added, but he didn’t want to trigger another attack. He swallowed the words down. “Breathe with me, Laurë. Slow and steady, now. Look -– look at the stars.”

Glorfindel turned his head stiffly to the sky, and the sight of the stars was already calming him. He seemed to come back to himself, listening and following Erestor’s count, until his breathing was again normal.

“Do you want me to go?” Erestor asked, once Glorfindel was sufficiently calm again. He didn’t look at Glorfindel when he turned around, but kept his head ducked and his eyes on his hands.

Glorfindel sounded genuinely startled, at least. “What? No, I -–” An audible breath. “Do you want to go?”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Then no.” The sound of footsteps. In his peripheral the red robes stopped, and Glorfindel’s hand was on his. The gentle touch was shocking enough that Erestor looked up and into Glorfindel’s eyes, which showed nothing but concern. Just moments ago he couldn’t breathe properly, Erestor reminded himself, tired with self-disgust. If he could just stop trying to gain attention and instead focus on Glorfindel’s needs -– But his anxiety was making itself known, and as always, it was impossible to ignore the sick turn of his stomach and the prickling behind his eyes.

“It was a bad attack,” Glorfindel was saying, and his hands travelled up to grip comfortingly at Erestor’s wrists, “but that has never bothered you before, Erestor, so why -– ?”

Comprehension dawned. Erestor turned his face stubbornly away, unwilling to face such painful rejection head-on. He looked back at the plain below, where just hours ago -– could it really be so short a time? -– the festivities had made him feel his age. Now he felt just as young as the rest of them: betting on love and inevitably, excruciatingly losing at it. Still, he could admit that the moon cast the scene in a lovely light.

“Erestor. Beloved.” Erestor blinked slowly, turning back to Glorfindel. _Beloved?_ Glorfindel’s face bore an expression of sorrow. “I did not intend to frighten you. I’m sorry. It wasn’t you -–”

“Right,” Erestor said, drawing away and suddenly feeling the coolness of the night, now that the heat of Glorfindel’s embrace and his own panic had faded. He wrapped his arms around himself.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Tell me the truth.”

Glorfindel hesitated. “Very well. It _was_ something you did, but not because _you_ did it. My hair -–” He wrinkled his nose and started to braid his hair back with sharp, angry movements.

The anxious feeling seeped away, only to be replaced immediately by deep embarrassment. Of course Glorfindel wasn’t regretting the whole thing -– he hadn’t exactly flinched away in disgust as Erestor leaned closer. And he’d only withdrawn after Erestor had touched his hair, which, well. Blood flooded to his face and he ducked his head again, thanking Eru for blessing him with dark skin that concealed most of it. They’d barely shared their first kiss and there he was, groping Glorfindel like some hormonal human!

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” he said.

A look of surprise flitted across Glorfindel’s face. “Uncomfortable –- ? Oh, no, it wasn’t that. Under other circumstances, I would’ve enjoyed it very much.” A blush covered his golden-brown cheeks and he laughed quietly, hand going to his high collar. “No, I -– I feel I hardly need to tell the story, for there are so many songs about it. You know the circumstances of my death?”

Erestor nodded slowly. He could hardly hold such a high position in a household whose liege’s father and grandmothers had been saved by Glorfindel, and not know such stories. They didn’t really talk about it anymore, though, because it was awkward with Glorfindel there, and they had no way of knowing how he felt about it.

The survivors of Gondolin had escaped through the tunnel that princess Idril had commissioned, and there came face-to-face with a Balrog. Glorfindel had bravely fought it and even managed to fatally wound it. It fell off the mountain, Glorfindel turned to face the cheering crowd, and the Balrog, in a last act of malice, raised its talons and snagged Glorfindel’s hair, dragging him down with it.

He relayed as much to Glorfindel, whose lips thinned. “I fought it because we had no other choice, and we were all too tired to cheer. The rest is correct, however.”

Erestor’s eyebrows shot up as a previously-missed detail caught his attention. “Oh! Your hair?”

Glorfindel nodded. “Do you remember when it was cut off?”

“How could I forget? Imladris held an official mourning period.” Erestor only wished he was exaggerating. Some of the Imladhrim had even shown up to the small ceremony where Glorfindel burnt the cut hair. Erestor _had_ been there, but it had been in support of a friend. Though he could admit to himself that he preferred Glorfindel with long hair, he had been able to see how light Glorfindel’s head was with his short hair. He’d half-expected Glorfindel to cut it again when it grew longer, but he never had.

“It was because of my training as a warrior. I was duelling with one of the others, my hair unbound, and she used it to her advantage. Quick thinking; very commendable. But I had a bad reaction. The captains told me I faced a choice: my hair or becoming a warrior.”

Erestor couldn’t quite contain his horror, hand creeping to his own hair. In coils, it reached almost to his thighs, but during his childhood it had bunched close to his head. Still, he couldn’t imagine cutting any of it. Anyone who had known Glorfindel for longer than a day knew what being a warrior meant to him; it was a cruel ultimatum to give.

Glorfindel shrugged at his expression, seemingly unconcerned. “I didn’t mind. I was glad to get rid of it, and the captains gave me an acceptable reason. While I had the short hair I gained enough control over myself, so that the captains told me I was allowed to keep my hair when it grew back.”

“Just because you control your reactions doesn’t mean nothing is wrong, Laurë,” Erestor replied, still horrified. “It’s not an ideal situation to be in.”

“I keep it bound,” Glorfindel protested. A self-deprecating smile briefly crossed his face. “If Ecthelion could see me now.” He shook the melancholy mood quickly, and smiled, a little shy. When he touched his hand –- carefully, carefully -– Erestor didn’t draw away. “It was only so bad because I didn’t expect it. But I’ll be honest, Erestor; it might be centuries before I allow even you to touch my hair. It might be never. If that’s not something you can handle, I’ll understand.”

“You really think me so shallow?” Erestor asked, and closed his hand over Glorfindel’s. “I will take you as you are, if you never changed for all the millennia to come. I will take you if all your hair is shorn off tomorrow, or if you grow it ‘til it is the length of a tower, even if I cannot touch it. I will go one day to Valinor with you and face Ecthelion and make awkward small-talk with him, if that is what you want.”

“How could I not?” Glorfindel looked down at their clasped hands and something very much like awe shone on his face. “Ecthelion will like you, I’m sure of it.”

“He’d better; we have the same taste,” Erestor replied, mock-affronted, and was rewarded with a soft laugh from Glorfindel, gaze still intent on their hands. It helped him decide to make the offer he wasn’t quite sure he should: “I don’t know if you want, but… you can touch my hair. If you like.”

That was enough to make Glorfindel meet his eyes again; they were wide and shocked, and his irises were again becoming swallowed by his pupils. “Truly?” Erestor nodded. Glorfindel’s smile became coy. “Well, who am I to turn down such a generous offer?”

His hands were gentle on Erestor’s face; still, Erestor shivered as he skimmed upwards. When Glorfindel touched the roots of his coils, there was a long moment where no breath could pass through Erestor’s lips. He cleared his throat before saying, “I feel we’ve been quite clear so far, but just to be remarkably so: this is an offer.”

“I had assumed so,” Glorfindel answered distractedly from where he was tracing every coil’s path. Erestor had placed pieces of silver throughout them, and though he knew they would feel cold to Glorfindel, he could only imagine the warmth of his fingers.

“And your answer?” He shot Erestor a flat look. “I’m just being thorough.”

“You know, Erestor, I really can’t say for sure,” Glorfindel said, straight-faced. “There’s someone else -– very distracting, beautiful hair, and he’s my best friend. I just can’t choose between the two of you like this.”

Erestor struggled to maintain the same expression. “My personal philosophy has always been to choose the option that would upset Gildor the most,” he said, and then they were kissing again. Erestor took a moment to ponder the apparent link between mentioning Gildor and them kissing, before deciding to focus on more pleasurable things. Like the thing Glorfindel did with his mouth in combination with his hand in Erestor's hair. For his part, Erestor made sure his one hand was bunched in Glorfindel’s collar, while his other arm wound around Glorfindel’s waist.

It was a longer kiss than before, and somehow slower too, but just as sweet. It had no real end, just the soft separation of their lips, and then Erestor opening his eyes to see the glorious wonder in Glorfindel’s.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have seen this night,” Glorfindel said, hands coming up to cradle Erestor’s face in them. “There is none who can compete.”

“Not even the stars?” Erestor asked, even as his pulse fluttered at his throat.

“You need not compete with the stars, for you are siblings,” Glorfindel replied, holding one hand in place as the other grazed Erestor’s silken indigo dress. He’d even let the tailor adorn it with scatterings of silver, especially for the Feast of Starlight. He hadn’t had a chance to show it off tonight, but there was still a week of festivities left. Besides, he found the open admiration in Glorfindel’s eyes did more for him than a hundred compliments would. He had never been quite as aware of how the dress resembled the night sky as he was now, under Glorfindel’s burning gaze.

Glorfindel couldn’t quite seem to control himself; he swooped in for several short kisses, before turning his careful attention to Erestor’s neck and collarbones. For his part, Erestor clutched Glorfindel to him and kissed him greedily back when he inevitably returned to his lips.

“You are Varda remade,” Glorfindel whispered against his lips.

It took a moment for Erestor to separate himself long enough from that mouth to process the words and the almost worshipful tone. “You would compare me with a Vala?” he asked, half-laughing. He felt drunk on wine and Glorfindel’s lips. What pride, to compare such a great being with a mere mortal -– for all that they never aged, they were still very, very mortal compared to any Ainu.

“What are the Valar’s forms but created in the image of us?” Glorfindel stepped back slightly, and Erestor _just_ managed to bite back the sound he wanted to make in protest. The red on Glorfindel’s lips was smudged and smeared and nearly gone. Erestor had a feeling he knew where the rest of it was.

Someone must’ve left the doors to Hall of Fire open, because soft music drifted up towards them. Glorfindel tilted his head to listen and smiled, taking Erestor’s hands and drawing him into a slow dance.

“You already have me, Laurë,” Erestor told him, and laughed when Glorfindel twirled him unexpectedly. “You need not flatter me anymore.”

“On the contrary,” Glorfindel replied, and pulled him close. “Though I have you and you me, I find that my desire to _flatter_ you has not faded.”

Erestor nodded gravely. “Then I suppose I’d better tell you not to wear robes that match your lips again.”

A puzzled expression crossed Glorfindel’s face. “Why not?”

Erestor let his gaze drift leisurely down to Glorfindel’s mouth. His hand, he moved to Glorfindel’s neck -– regrettably covered by his high collar -– before bringing it up to rest his thumb gently on Glorfindel’s lower lip. “Because it makes me want to kiss you.”

“I don’t see why that would discourage me,” Glorfindel noted, but there was colour high on his cheeks and the hand that he brought up to the side of Erestor’s face shook. His rings caught slightly on Erestor’s skin, and Erestor didn’t even try to resist the urge to cover that hand with his own, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to the palm.

They stayed like that for several long moments, until a crash sounded below, followed by drunken laughter, as the Hall of Fire was presumably emptied. From the Bruinen’s general direction came a shout and sounds of splashing. Erestor winced internally. It seemed the fools had moved on from the fountains.

“I have wine and a large enough bed for the two of us,” Erestor whispered, and led them inside when Glorfindel smiled in reply. They didn’t exactly sleep, nor really talk -– or they did, but nothing that mattered, only something to keep them awake and mask the small touches they exchanged.

When they finally slept, it was facing each other, close enough to share breath, and with their hands ever so gently tangled together.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, not exactly well-rested but significantly less hungover –- or wet, in some cases -– than most of the Imladhrim, Erestor and Glorfindel went back to their duties. Out of lack of alternatives, Glorfindel opted to continue wearing his robes. Erestor exchanged his dress for a more typical -– for him, it meant plain -– one.

They worked close enough to each other that they walked together. They didn’t exactly hold hands, but their shoulders pressed together and their hands brushed more times than could be purely accidental.

“Last night was quite successful,” Erestor remarked casually. Glorfindel raised his brows in question, but his eyes were dubious. The trouble with entering into a relationship with your best friend, Erestor reflected sadly, was that he was still your best friend. After he’d learnt Erestor’s tells, Glorfindel had no longer been as gullible, and therefore easy to fool, as Lindir, for instance. Still he seemed interested enough, so Erestor continued, “I _did_ end up meeting with a lover, as you suggested, and it went very well indeed.”

Glorfindel was trying hard to hide a smile, but he wasn’t the only in their friendship to learn the tells of the other. “And I,” he replied imperiously, “spent the night in worship.”

There was mirth in his voice now, but the previous night, when he spoke of the lack of temples for Varda, there had been definite wistfulness in his expression. Liege Elrond had many talents, but researching wasn’t chief among them. Erestor calculated how long it would take to go through several sources and inquire after it through word-of-mouth, and decided he definitely had enough time to spare.

Out loud he said, “Well, since it went so well, maybe we should try it again.”

The brightness of Glorfindel’s smile could have inspired Arien.

They walked in silence until their paths diverged. Erestor bade Glorfindel farewell with a customary embrace, but before he could turn away, Glorfindel caught his wrist. It would seem purely platonic to any onlookers, who all knew what good friends they were, but Erestor could see the way Glorfindel’s gaze flitted down to his lips and then up again. His pulse hammered against Glorfindel’s hand.

“Why did you say last night that I should not wear the same colour on my mouth and clothes, or else you would want to kiss me?”

Erestor’s gaze performed its own journey downwards. Glorfindel hadn’t painted his lips again before they left, though that was mostly because Erestor didn’t keep any paints, preferring to adorn his eyes rather than his own lips. Yet he found that Glorfindel’s unpainted mouth didn’t exactly lessen his desire to kiss him.

“Well, which would you prefer?” he asked. “Our relationship becoming public and word reaching Gildor before he comes again to Imladris, or hiding it until he arrives so we can see his expression ourselves?”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. what’s the timeline for this?? no one knows, least of all me  
> 2\. sundering seas = seas between valinor/undying lands and middle-earth  
> 3\. did the elves know of tom bombadil before lotr?? oh wait hmm this could conceivably take place AFTER lotr, but still. i’d like to know. also tom bombadil is like, very probably a maia (and the istari are definitely), so that’s why they’re older.  
> 4\. i’m going to make an assumption that the feast of starlight is dedicated to varda/elbereth gilthoniel (= vala of the stars, basically the queen of the valar, married to manwë, and according to me the strongest of the valar) since duh and also bc elves fuckin love her  
> 5\. as you all no doubt noticed, i’m not really keeping 100% to canon here. so king oropher has become queen oropher and lord finrod is now lady finrod. if you don’t like it (and not for a good reason) then it sucks to be you I guess.  
> 6\. laurë = laurefindil [glorfindel’s quenya name] = nickname for glorfindel  
> 7\. did I write this entire thing just to diss gildor? nooooo,,,, (but seriously, after reading silm the house of finrod thing in lotr really bothered me.)  
> 8\. i adore the idea of maeglin basically being that one guy in meet the robinsons. i’m sorry, but no matter how creepy you are, if you’re someone new in a closed environment, people WILL want to get to know you. but maeglin is the son of a lord and (as cool as aredhel is) a princess, so he’s probably (definitely) entitled af  
> 9\. inspiration for the “Erestor wanted… Well. He wanted.” line comes from ShanaStoryteller’s [Gods & Monsters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10669833/chapters/23617803) ([specifically](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10669833/chapters/40394594)). If you’re into greek myths, go read it!  
> 10\. credit for celethêl goes to houseofhaleth’s super cool [post](http://houseofhaleth.tumblr.com/post/82107080835/penlod-and-celeth%C3%AAl-headcanons-penlod-is)  
> 11\. just to mention bc it’s not super clear, the majority of elves in this universe are demisexual (so they have long relationships until they feel sexually attracted to each other and are willing to have sex/get married), and they just call each other lovers, which is not meant in the sense of people having sex. however, some elves (like ecthelion) are asexual (so they usually don’t want or need to have sex/get married)  
> 12\. tilion = the moon & arien = the sun  
> 13\. i’m going with the idea of elves having like,, cat-eyes bc I can & also they are!! not!! human!!  
> 14\. glorfindel & tauriel are like,, the friend version of a power couple yknow?? just accept it  
> 15\. eryn galen = greenwood the great (mirkwood before the whole dol guldur debacle)  
> 16\. earendil, idril & tuor were saved by glorfindel’s sacrifice. i refer to grandmothers bc I personally hc tuor as a trans woman. correct me if I’m wrong, but she was raised by elves (who I hc as having very-chill-about-gender parenting techniques) before becoming a thrall (probably not addressed correctly, but also not seen as human so more yikes slavery than yikes transphobia) before going to gondolin, where she could be a trans woman in peace.  
> 17\. bruinen = river just outside imladris/rivendell (specifically the one frodo went over, escaping from the nazgul)  
> 18\. just to make it clear (if it isn’t I’m sorry), erestor is black and glorfindel is biracial, half-black & half-latino. glorfindel has ptsd and gets panic attacks and erestor has anxiety. also (this doesn't come up in the story, but just so you know) glorfindel is a trans man, pronouns he/him (if anyone’s interested, elves change their bodies by using glamours [though i feel like they don't have a lot of sexual dimorphism in any case], and are also willing to do it for other races who ask) and elrond is agender, pronouns they/them (i give them the title “liege” bc I can’t find a good gender-neutral equivalent for lord/lady – if anyone has alternatives, i’d really appreciate it!).


End file.
